


Family, Nonetheless

by citrusfriend



Series: Poetry [32]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Parents, Acceptance, Alien Cultural Differences, Bad Parenting, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Estrangement, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Generational Abuse, Grooming, Healing, Mental Health Issues, Mother-Son Relationship, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Repressed Memories, Sexual Abuse, Trauma, musings on what family means to someone abused by family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29006445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusfriend/pseuds/citrusfriend
Summary: When you are born and raised as cattle,you will always feel as though you are playacting humanity.
Series: Poetry [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1320233
Kudos: 1





	Family, Nonetheless

~~This is the only family I have,  
~~ ~~the only family I will ever understand.  
~~ ~~Sometimes, nothing replaces the trauma, the family,  
~~ ~~but we heal, nonetheless.~~

I have started listening to my father's favorite songs again.  
 ~~I somehow still remember all the words.~~  
I have stopped listening to my mother's favorite lectures again.  
 ~~I somehow still remember all the words.~~  
On good days, I sing along to the music  
that my father loved  
and I do not remember him.  
On bad days, I listen to the music my mother swore and survived by and  
I _somehow_ still remember _all the words,_  
even through the haze of a panic attack.  
I do not sing along, nonetheless.

There are no apologies  
and no reparations  
that can heal this kind of hurt.  
When you are born and raised as cattle,  
you will always feel as though you are playacting humanity.  
 ~~Perhaps this is why objectification appeals so.~~  
My mother does not remember  
any of the most traumatizing things she has done to me.  
 _I_ do not remember  
any of the most traumatizing things my father has done to me.  
The trauma remains, nonetheless.

Isn't it strange?  
The ways we heal.  
The ways we learn to love ourselves  
for the first time.  
I was never my first love,  
I am certainly not my last.  
Isn't it strange?  
The ways we can be convinced _this moment_ is the only one.  
The ways we will always keep living more, nonetheless.

But really,  
are we not all just waiting for our fathers to die  
and for our mothers to heal?  
We are all just waiting for the apologies that   
we do not want,  
 ~~will not accept,~~  
but deserve nonetheless.

Sometimes people will ask about my family.  
I hate every person who does not hesitate over the question,  
every person who does not silently wonder  
what that word is even supposed to _mean._  
Sometimes people will ask why I call them family  
 ~~why I will always call him my dad.~~  
I hate every person who does not understand the conundrum  
of a child who believes abuse is _mundane._  
I hate every person who has not tried to detangle  
 _parenthood_ and _abuse_  
 ~~familiar~~  
and torture  
 ~~protection~~  
and grooming  
 ~~discipline~~  
and cult  
 ~~normal~~  
and generational abuse  
 ~~love~~  
and sadism  
and realized that they will never truly know the difference.  
I hate every person who has not fought tooth and nail,  
who have not drained themselves of sweat and blood,  
to be even infinitesimally better  
than what they were raised to be.  
I hate every person who has not reinvented themself into humanity.  
 ~~I do not hate them, not really.~~  
I do not forgive them, nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> 1/26/21


End file.
